


Glasses and Guilt

by ajkal2



Series: Doorsteps-verse (aka that one where dave runs away to roses) [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abandonment, Child Neglect, Gen, ill tag all that in the next one, muahahahah, not much else i can tag without spoilers, oh yes ive been waiting for this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7190384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajkal2/pseuds/ajkal2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mom has a talk with Rose and Dave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glasses and Guilt

 Your name is Rose Lalonde, you are 7 years old, and your mother is drunk.

 

She didn’t pick you up from school today, you had to walk home. She’s lying on the sofa, wine bottle in her arms, tears streaming down her face.

 

“Mom?” you ask, tugging at her sleeve. “Are you well?”

 

She looks at you, and snuffles into the cushions.

 

“I-” she starts, then sits up and tips the bottle to her lips. You know whats in the bottle, and you reach up to it, trying to pull it down. “I l-left him, Rosie.” She always says that, or something like it. “I’m a bad Mom, I LEFT him and-and...” She weeps, and gathers you to her, hiding her face in your hair. You squirm, because you have homework to do and you want to talk to your friends and you _hate_ it when she does this you _hate_ it. “

 

“Mom, can you put the bottle down?” you plead, imploring (you learnt that word today) her to stop, because you don’t like it when she drinks and cries and slurs and you know that when she wakes up she’ll hold you and apologize and promise never again but she never keeps that promise and that’s Bad! You should keep promises, that’s what your books say, and people who don’t keep promises have bad things happen to them. You don’t _want_ bad things to happen to your Mom!!

 

“Sure, sure sweetie I will, just, just one… one more…” she’s slurring now, gaze fixed on the bottle. She leans forward, fingers brushing the glass. You manage to wriggle out of her suffocating arms.

 

You look at her for a second, then grab your bag and run up the stairs, slamming the door to your room and flopping facedown on your bed. You grab your pillow, hugging it to your chest.

 

You try and remember all the reasons behind alcoholism you’ve researched, all the justifications and science of addiction. Instead words like _responsible caretaker_ and _neglect_ come to you, and you drown them out by screaming into your pillow.

 

You’ve read about cycles of abuse and how alcohol twists minds and all the programs that exist to help. You’ve read about grief and guilt and how they drive people to need to forget. But you don’t know what your Mom is guilty about and most of the time she’s OK and she loves you, you know that, but sometimes it’s just so _hard._

 

You lie there and wrestle with your mind for a few hours more, then talk to your friends, chat to Dave about frivolous topics because sometimes you think he understands, a bit, how it is to love someone when they’re hurting you.

 

The next morning your mother signs up to the Alcoholics Anonymous program, and things start to get better.

 

* * *

 

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and your mother has been sober for almost 6 years.

 

You still keep watching her. You don’t think you’ll ever stop, but Dave’s problems are _much_ more interesting than those of your family. It’s been a few weeks since he arrived, and you’ve made up with your girlfriend and made him _finally_ take off his sunglasses in front of you. He smiles now, sometimes, and flashes grins that are gone in moments.

 

He’s getting better, slowly.

 

Your mother, however…

 

You catch her looking at the wine bottles in the supermarket, see the temptation in her eyes. You see flashes of old guilt in her eyes when she looks at the two of you. You tell Dave, one night, that any day now you’re expecting to come home to green glass and silver tears.

 

He reassures you, in his own quirky way, and you feel a little better. But you still watch, and you still notice, and you turn over words from long ago in the back of your mind.

 

_“I’m a bad Mom, I LEFT him and-and...”_

 

* * *

 

Your name is Dave Something, and somehow you are talking about Feelings with Mom again.

 

It starts with a good old classic:

 

“We need to talk,”Mom says, “About a kinda big thing. None of ya are in trouble or nothing, we just gotta have a conversation.”

 

“What’s up?” Rose asks, in a completely formal manner. You _need_ to have a chat about acronyms with her, convert her to the One True Teenage Path that is littering your speech with internet references.

 

“Honestly, it’s _sup_ , aren’t you down with the kids Rose? Wait, nah, you’re like the worst in this household at text-talk. I’ll just have to pull your dead weight, you gotta at least try to emphasize with the kids brah. Get down with all your bros man.” You lean on the back of the sofa, half tempted to forward roll across it. Gotta make an entrance.

 

“Dave, honey, we both be knowin’ that I’m more down with the kids than you will _ever_ be,” Mom retorts, snapping her wrist in the way you just can’t get the hang of.

 

Rose rolls her eyes.

 

“Ignoring Dave’s stupid antics, what did you call us here for?” Rose asks, sitting on the sofa. You hop over the back, and come to rest with your butt planted on the other cushion.

 

Mom takes the armchair opposite. She clasps her hands in her lap, looking at Rose, then at you, then settles on Rose.

 

“Rosie, I’ve need ta talk to you about...about yer father. And I need ta apologize.”

 

Rose stiffens. You jump to your feet. You know that this is _not_ a conversation that you should be listening to.

 

“I’ll just-I mean, I’ll go, I shouldn’t be-yeah, I’m gone I-”

 

“Dave, siddown. This is about the two of ya,” Mom says, her voice calm even though you are the opposite.

 

“But-”

 

“Siddown.” Her tone leaves no argument, and you plonk back down, mouth twisted.

 

Rose hasn’t moved. She looks like a statue, one of those delicate glass ones, and you know that this topic? This is Big. And you shouldn’t be here, and you don’t know why Rose's Mom wants you here.

 

“I was young. Young and foolish, you know how it is. Well, I guess you don’t yet, but you will.” She sighs, and her tone draws you into the story. “They were researching something, something big, something I really wanted to be a part of. So I packed up my bags and hiked up my dress and went off, and turned up on the doorstep of the institute with a suitcase and a dream. I gotta intern job, carrying trays and makin coffees, and I was so _excited,_ Rosie, it was the bleeding edge, they were learning about the smallest things and how the world fit together, and I was _there._ It was bloody wonderful.” She closes her eyes for a moment, and you still don’t know why you’re here and how any of this links to Rose’s dad and _you shouldn’t be here._ “There was a party, at some nightclub or o’er, and he was there. It was a one-night thing, we went back to his, and I didn’t see him again. It was… hard, when I found out, and I barely had enough money, and I was back here p much as soon as you was born.”

 

“But…” Rose whispers, still frozen, and you know from the way her eyes widen that she’s figured something out.

 

“But…” Mom echos, misery etched into her face “I left something behind. Something I should have taken with me. I remember when I found out, I was happy and excited and miserable and guilty because I could barely afford one kid then, an’ how in the name of science was I meant to raise two?”

 

Wait, _what?_

 

Rose has a _twin?????_

 

_You should not be listening to this why are you listening to this!_

 

“I flipped a coin,” she says, and you’re thinking about when you were at the bus station and you did the same, had an impossible decision to make and left it to chance- “and I left my baby boy on the doorstep of his Dad’s apartment-” the pieces are flying together but you don’t know what picture they form and Rose’s hand flies to her mouth as she works it out and- “I left him a letter and his name and his birthday-” Mom’s gritting her teeth and has tears in her eyes and no no no this cant be it cant be-“I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ I swear I didn’t know-” she cant have it cant be you cant be why are you here _why are you here you think you know but it cant be true-_

 

Voices echo in your head, Bro’s _“I never ASKED for some brat to be left for me!”,_ and Rose’s _“She’s been feeling guilty again, I don’t know why it’s come back now of all times…”_ and Mom’s “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I left you, I’m sorry.”

 

You feel numb.

 

You look at Rose, and she looks at you, and you think that your birthday is the day before hers. You think that the chances must be tiny. You think that you’ve never seen anyone else with that white-blonde hair except you and Bro and Mom.  

 

Your Mom.

  
Well, shit.

**Author's Note:**

> MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!
> 
> SORRY THIS HADNT UPDATED FOR AGES I WAS TRYING TO WRITE THE WHOLE KANAYA THING AND IT WAS REALLY HARD SO I WROTE THIS INSTEAD
> 
> PLEASE COMMENT IT MAKES MY DAY THAT LITTLE BIT BRIGHTER
> 
> SORRY NOT SORRY ABOUT THAT CLIFFHANGER


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